


Of Dissonance and Harmony

by SinisterSound



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: A little bit of angst, A little bit of fluff, Confessions, First Kisses, Friends to Lovers, Hongjoong is sad for a while, Hongjoong likes playing for Seonghwa, I don’t know anything about piano but please don’t yell at me, M/M, Manager!Seonghwa, Pianist!Hongjoong, Seonghwa likes listening to Hongjoong play, a bunch of cute, but it gets all better, classical piano, falling love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinisterSound/pseuds/SinisterSound
Summary: Seonghwa listens to Hongjoong create music on piano that was happy and gentle, with imageries of babbling brooks and softly lit meadows covered in morning dew- reflective of everything the vibrant pianist himself was.One day, for the first time in his life, Seonghwa hears Hongjoong play a sad song.(Inspired by Hongjoong’s recent piano cover and photos!)
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 26
Kudos: 591
Collections: ateez ff





	Of Dissonance and Harmony

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and edited this in a single day and I don’t really like it but I took a break from beginning the space!AU to pump this out because I couldn’t resist so I hope some part of it is likeable >w<
> 
> I did enjoy writing it, but part of me isn’t satisfied, but I want to focus on my space!AU so I’m just gonna post it lol~ 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy regardless! Please let me know what you think, even if it’s lack luster lol~ 
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> -SS

Seonghwa may work in music, with music, and surrounded by music, but he was not a musician by any means.

He couldn’t tell a D# from a F, and he certainly could never dream of being able to put together a chord on his own. He couldn’t read sheet music, and most musical terms were lost on him (adagio sounded like some sort of foreign restaurant food).

He could name most every instrument in an orchestra, but God help you if you asked him to play one, or even identify the sound of a piccolo compared to a clarinet.

Seonghwa was far, far from being a musical connoisseur, and most people would probably wonder by the hell he worked with musicians, if he didn’t have any sort of knowledge to go with that.

But to Seonghwa… that was the absolute beauty of it all.

Seonghwa couldn’t tell a chord from a stanza, but he could hear music. He could hear and feel and listen and  _ experience _ music. He could get lost in music without understanding a damn thing that went into making it. It wasn’t a requirement.

Seonghwa dealt in business. In facts and management and dealings and people. But he worked around music, and it didn’t matter how stunted his business brain was, music was always beautiful, regardless of how little he knew.

Seonghwa loved music, even if he didn’t understand it. He loved that he didn’t  _ have _ to understand it.

What he did not love… was standing outside of a waiting room after the fifth call of “give me two more minutes!” while they were minutes away from being late to their flight.

Perhaps music surrounded Seonghwa’s work, but that certainly was not all there was to it. He faced a thousand problems a day that required more work than just pretty music could fix.

Approximately 324 of those problems came from Hongjoong himself.

“Hongjoong, you have three seconds to get out here before I come in!” Seonghwa called through the door, staring at his watch, on the verge of breaking into a cold sweat because the piano was already en route, and it was going to arrive  _ without its player _ at this rate. 

His call was met with silence, though, and Seonghwa groaned, grabbing the door handle. “Hong-“

It swung open rapidly, Hongjoong standing there, dressed with an innocent smile. “I’m ready,” he said, brushing at his hair to flatten it slightly.

He was dressed still in a white button up and black slacks, though the top button was undone, his shirt wasn’t fully tucked in, and instead of dress shoes, he wore outdoor slippers.

“It took you half an hour to end up looking like that?” Seonghwa demanded, taking Hongjoong by the elbow and dragging him through the backstage area.

Hongjoong didn’t complain about the hold, instead smiling innocently. “You think it’s easy to look this carefully roughed up? Everything is purposeful.”

“Yes, and now we only have an hour to make our flight,” Seonghwa sighed, dodging backstage workers who were carrying lights, microphones, and cables, while Seonghwa was practically carrying a child. “Must you do this every time?” he demanded as they finally made it to the back door where the car was waiting. “Is being late part of your life goal, as well?”

“We’re not going to be late,” Hongjoong chuckled, entirely too content to be dragged around like a sack of flour. “You just worry too much. I think you looped your belt too tight or something. Or maybe you sat on a stick by accident again-“

“It is the Friday evening before the long weekend holiday,” Seonghwa said, opening the passenger door and shoving him inside unceremoniously, slamming it shut and crossing around to the driver side. “The airport is going to be packed with people going home for the long weekend.”

Hongjoong frowned for a moment, thinking about whether Seonghwa was correct about the date or not, before his face split back into that innocent smile as he leaned closer to Seonghwa. “Well, it’s a good thing I have you to remind me of these things!”

Seonghwa glared at him from the corner of his eye as they pulled away from the performance hall. “It would be a lot easier to remind you, if you listened and believed me the first time I told you these things.”

Hongjoong smiled sheepishly, leaning back into his seat as a quiet sigh, stretching his arms out in front of him with a tired groan. “My fingers are killing me,” he chuckled, staring at them and wiggling them slowly. “That concert hall was colder than I expected.”

Without looking, Seonghwa turned the heater up in the car, despite the warmer weather outside, reaching with one hand to grab Hongjoong’s hands and press his fingers against the warm air coming out.

Hongjoong chuckled again, and Seonghwa could see that blinding smile, even as he focused on traffic, releasing Hongjoong’s hands.

“What would I do without you?” Hongjoong asked, laughing but with just enough edge of seriousness for Seonghwa to glance his way.

Hongjoong smiled warmly. With that infuriatingly bright light in his eyes that he insisted on looking at Seonghwa with, no matter how short Seonghwa was being with him. Even after dying his hair a dark black again, after a luscious blonde, he still seemed as bright and innocent as ever.

Even if the darker hair did make him finally look a bit older, and Seonghwa no longer really felt like he was looking after a child, rather than a grown man his age.

“Be late to everything and have cold hands,” Seonghwa replied, a little dry, but it made Hongjoong laugh, rubbing his hands together gently.

“Not to mention, I’d be incredibly bored,” Hongjoong reminded him lightly. “And all I’d have to bounce ideas off of would be a wall.”

“You have an entire team that helps you,” Seonghwa said, glancing at Hongjoong who was staring out the car window- the dark night casting his face in the red and fluorescent lights of the glowing street signs.

“Maybe,” Hongjoong murmured, smiling distantly. “But no one can criticize the hell out of me like you.”

“I don’t criticize you,” Seonghwa defended, aghast.

“You do!” Hongjoong laughed, turning back to him. “You tell me whether or not my songs are catchy, or if they sound too dissonant-“

“Hongjoong, your entire team is filled with people who can actually find an F note on the piano.”

“And?” he demanded, crossing his arms stubbornly. “What good is it to be  _ technically _ perfect, if a normal person doesn’t like it, in the end? Not everyone listening to my music has a PhD to know that it was perfectly harmonic. If it doesn’t sound good to a regular ear, what’s the point?”

Seonghwa sighed, shaking his head as they finally sped along the interstate. “I have to keep reminding myself you’re not one of those elitist musicians. You don’t like snobby people.”

“I don’t like people thinking that there’s only one way for a song to be good,” Hongjoong said firmly, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. “My team has loved songs that you said were too noisy.”

“I never called them that-“

“I like when you call them that.”

Seonghwa glanced from the corner of his eye, confused, but Hongjoong was staring out the windshield, his smile having faded into a pensive countenance that bordered on a little… sad.

Hongjoong’s moods were always a little weird after a big performance. A little moody, a little emotional, a little fragile… and sometimes a little crazy, a little manic, a little hyper. Seonghwa just hoped that after this final stop on his tour, he’d be able to rest and regather himself a bit.

“I like when you’re honest,” Hongjoong said firmly, nodding to himself. “My team is great, but… I value your opinion a lot. Because I know you’re always honest. It means… a lot to me when you call it noisy or too fast… because it means that you cared enough to help me make it better.”

Seonghwa kept his eyes on the road, but his grip tightened on the steering wheel briefly.

He’d been managing Hongjoong for about five years now, since just after he started gaining traction as a talented pianist. He’d seen Hongjoong grow a lot, and he’d seen the times when stress began to get to him too badly.

He’d seen a lot of sides of Hongjoong. Because he wasn’t one to hide his emotions at all- not the good ones, not the bad ones, not the ugly ones. Hongjoong was an open book, and Seonghwa appreciated that, outside of all the running late.

Seonghwa would consider Hongjoong a friend before a client or a business partner. They’d grown close quickly, because Seonghwa spent all day as one of the only people Hongjoong saw, so he got everything: the tears from stress, the dissonant slamming of keys in frustration, the squeals about the cat he saw by the convenience store, the whining about how he had to tune his piano again-

The invitations to every meal of the day because Hongjoong seemed to have some sort of aversion to eating alone, and the demands that Seonghwa stop typing on his phone and come sit next to Hongjoong on the couch for no other reason than Hongjoong was feeling melancholy.

Maybe it wasn’t usually a manager’s place to critique a musician’s music, but Hongjoong had once asked his opinion, only days after Seonghwa began working for him, and Seonghwa couldn’t help but point out that the ending sounded a bit fast, compared to the rest.

One of Hongjoong’s team members had been there, frowning. “What about talking about?” they scoffed, laughing. “That was a perfect half-step increase in tempo.”

Seonghwa had shrugged, trying not to offend anyone while he worked on booking a radio interview. But Hongjoong had looked at Seonghwa, played the piece again, and slowed down the ending, giving him a questioning look of delighted expectation.

It sounded good. Brilliant. And Seonghwa told him so.

Hongjoong always took Seonghwa’s opinion into consideration.

But it was still always a bit jarring when Hongjoong was so open about how much Seonghwa… meant to him.

He knew that Hongjoong didn’t have many friends. There was some cellist- Yeosang- who worked primarily in Europe that he spoke to often enough, but day to day? Seonghwa was the only person Hongjoong ever saw, unless he met with his team.

That happened more nearing tours and performances, but in the off season? The down time? Seonghwa was the only soul Hongjoong would interact with for days.

“Well, I can’t exactly let you go around turning into some elitists who thinks it has to sound good just because you used perfect pitch to make it,” Seonghwa chuckled, glancing at Hongjoong who smiled back gratefully.

“After this last tour performance, we should get a really nice dinner,” Hongjoong said, sighing and relaxing a bit, looking tired from the hour. “But I want somewhere with a patio near the water… I’m tired of being inside,” he chuckled.

Seonghwa knew Hongjoong was the kind to get inspiration from anywhere- from a piece of litter on the ground to an extravagant painting he saw online. He hated being kept indoors or confined to a space, saying that it stifled him.

So Seonghwa made sure to take him on long walks when they got a chance.

“I’ll find somewhere within walking distance of the performance hall,” he promised, smiling quietly. “And I’ll make sure the view is worth it.”

Seonghwa didn’t look at him, but he could feel Hongjoong’s smile growing wide, though his eyes remained soft. “What would I do without you?” he asked again, chuckling.

Seonghwa didn’t answer this time. Namely because his voice felt a bit thick, and he was too content to try and clear it.

He let Hongjoong doze until they reached the airport, and then he was dragged out by his elbow again as they ran to the terminal.

Hongjoong smiled the whole time, as if there was nothing better than being manhandled to his needed destination.

~~~~~~~~~

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm?”

Seonghwa didn’t bother glancing up from his phone, scrolling through some emails with a few offers- none of which seemed very appealing. He made a face, clicking on one and sending back an automatic, polite refusal.

“Listen.”

At that, he did glance up from where he was sitting on the sofa, staring across the brightly lit practice room at Hongjoong sitting at the black grand piano, expression furrowed as he stared at the half-written sheet music, a pencil behind his ear.

Seonghwa set his phone aside to show he was listening, crossing his legs expectantly, making Hongjoong chuckle slightly before placing his hands on the keys once more.

Seonghwa was no stranger to losing yourself to music.

Even when he was younger, he went through the mandatory phase of blaring his headphones to drown out the world and the helplessness of teenage years. Throughout college, he hadn’t had much time for music.

But after entering into the world of music management, it came back to him.

And after hearing Hongjoong play for the first time, he was hit by just how easy it was to lose himself in music again.

For the sake of work, Seonghwa had listened to hours of piano instrumentals and concerts from varying artists of varying degrees of skills, to ensure he knew what things were supposed to sound like.

And he knew that he had never heard someone play like Hongjoong.

Was Hongjoong the most talented? No. He was popular enough to live comfortably, but a day to day person had about a 1 in 5 chance of knowing his name.

Were his compositions the most complex and impressive? No. In fact, Hongjoong usually kept his compositions very simply, save for the few that he put his heart and soul into weaving into a thousand storylines.

But Hongjoong played with an  _ energy. _

The sort of sound that came from the soul, not just his hands.

Hongjoong’s music was always so  _ happy. _ Whether it was fast, a ballad, an epic, even slow and somber- there was just something in his music that made you smile, despite not knowing why.

Hongjoong could play a funeral march, and it would still bring images of sunny meadows and gentle breezes to Seonghwa’s mind.

Perhaps it was the fact that Seonghwa knew Hongjoong. He knew that he was always smiling while performing, he knew that he was always barely containing his joy as a piece came together. He knew that Hongjoong, as a person, just always seemed to be happy.

Even when the frustration and stress came down… his tunes were always lighthearted. They brought forth images of birds and meadows and gentle streams…

They were peaceful.

They were gentle.

Seonghwa often labeled Hongjoong as a pianist for those with broken hearts. For the people who just needed a bit of comfort. Something to smile about.

That’s what Hongjoong was.

So Seonghwa closed his eyes, listening as Hongjoong played what he had put together- the melody light and airy, with an almost startlingly deep bass beneath it.

It almost sounded… whimsical. Like someone running through a carnival- the light sound of laughter over the deep sounds of ride machines whirring and clicking. 

Hongjoong stopped abruptly, having reached the end of his plan, but he started back up again, going with his gut to add on a few more notes and chords. And then he slowly stopped.

Seonghwa waited, and Hongjoong chuckled. “Well, you’re smiling, so I guess it’s good?”

He opened his eyes slowly, nodding. “It’s a fun sound,” he said honestly. “I liked it.”

Hongjoong’s grin grew impossibly wide as always, eyes lighting up as he returned to his piano with a new vigor, jotting a couple of things on his sheet music page.

Sometimes, Seonghwa had to wonder why Hongjoong would place so much importance on his opinion. Why Seonghwa saying something was good always seemed to brighten his day. More often than not, Seonghwa thought everything was good.

But Hongjoong still acted as if he had been given a little treat by the compliments that Seonghwa gave freely.

But even if Seonghwa didn’t really understand… he still made sure to give them. Because why not brighten his day a little? What did it cost Seonghwa to be honest about how amazing Hongjoong’s work was?

Not a thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong wasn’t at the practice room yet.

It was really a nice room- bright and open with a lot of windows, and a floor that looked like a dance studio’s, polished and shiny.

There wasn’t much in it but the piano in the center, the couch along the wall, and a few pieces of equipment and supplies in one corner.

Hongjoong practically lived here. Seonghwa would return after a night of work, and find Hongjoong asleep on the couch, pencils and papers strewn across the floor as he slept in his clothes from the previous day.

Hongjoong always had a melody to bring into reality. His mind was a constant flurry of pianos and notes and chords… and he put them all down- into dozens of binders filled with half-finished songs, random chord progressions, and sometimes just a single note.

But Hongjoong wrote them all down.

So, Seonghwa was surprised to arrive at the practice room, with news of a newly booked small promotional deal with some drink company, and find Hongjoong not at his seat and not on the couch.

Seonghwa lifted a slow eyebrow. Had he actually gone home last night?

He debated on calling him, but it was currently an off-time for tours and such, so if Hongjoong showed up a few minutes late, Seonghwa wasn’t going to berate him over it.

He stood beside the piano, straightening a few papers leftover from yesterday, patting them to keep them in place as he rested a hand against the sleek black of the piano.

It was a beautiful instrument, even sitting silently.

A peaceful smile tugged at Seonghwa’s lips as he stared at the brilliant keys and little black bench. Part of it looked empty without Hongjoong filling it…

Seonghwa liked Hongjoong as a person, not just someone under his management.

And he loved that Hongjoong loved his work. Loved playing and performing and creating… Loved it enough to put up with the stress of it day after day, but still create such beautiful, uplifting music.

Seonghwa chuckled to himself, thinking about how starkly different the two of them were- a musician and a businessman. Seonghwa wouldn’t call himself a stick in the mud or grumpy by any means.

But he knew he didn’t not possess that constant light that Hongjoong held in his eyes and smile. The light that he was somehow able to impart into his music.

Beautiful, bright music.

Impulsively, Seonghwa stepped around the piano, dragging gentle fingertips over the ivory keys, until he reached the center of the lines of keys, his knees bumping the little black bench.

He sat down slowly, careful not to press any of the pedals beneath, staring at the wide span of keys. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe Hongjoong could play so deftly when his hands were so small.

(There had been a slightly tipsy argument sparked one night when Seonghwa brought up that Hongjoong’s hands were, in fact, very small, while they were out to dinner one night and sharing a bottle of soju.

In his flustered anger, Hongjoong had grabbed Seonghwa’s hand to show that his hands were not small. But his fingertips barely reached the top knuckle crease of Seonghwa’s, making him burst into laughter as Hongjoong pressed their hands together harder, as if it might make him grow.

Seonghwa was still not allowed to bring up the size of his hands, but he did anyway.)

Seonghwa’s hands may have been larger (and very fit for piano, Hongjoong had assured him one day after examining them with a smile), but they held none of the skill or knowledge that Hongjoong’s did.

He placed his hands awkwardly against the keys, having to bend his wrist weirdly because of how close he was sitting.

Hongjoong loved to talk about his passion, and Seonghwa had no reason not to listen. He had taught Seonghwa a few chords that would sound cool if he ever wanted to pull them out as a party trick.

But even something as simple as placing three of his fingers against keys and pressing down somehow sounded like the audio equivalent of a child’s finger painting hung up in the Louvre.

He pressed another chord, wincing when it was clear that he had picked the wrong key and fixed one of his fingers, trying again. It sounded better, but nothing like real music.

He had learned something stupid like Mary Had a Little Lamb, once, but it felt almost like an insult to play something like that on such a beautiful piano, especially one that was accustomed to Hongjoong’s play.

He pressed another chord, thinking that one had sounded the best out of the three. He pressed it again, bringing his other hand up to the left side of the keyboard, trying to remember how the hell one did an A chord.

He froze when a body was suddenly behind his, a quiet chuckle in his ear as Hongjoong’s face appeared beside his.

“A major chord?” he asked, lifting a hand and taking Seonghwa’s left hand to place correctly. His other hand pulled Seonghwa’s right hand further down. “F major.” He kept his hands on top of Seonghwa’s. “Now press.”

Seonghwa did as told, pressing both hands down at once, hearing a pleasant, high harmony that made him tilt his head to see Hongjoong smiling almost mischievously. “Do you think I’m ready for Broadway?” he asked sarcastically, making Hongjoong laugh and lean closer into him, almost like a hug.

“I think that you could just sit there at a piano, and people would absolutely believe you knew what you were doing,” he said, voice open and honest. “You look like a pianist.”

Seonghwa hummed, Hongjoong’s hands pressing down on his and making the two chords play once more. “And what, exactly, does a pianist look like?”

“Traditionally?” Hongjoong said, taking Seonghwa’s left hand and moving it down, arranging his fingers into a position Seonghwa couldn’t even hope to name. “A little serious, a little old,” He said, pressing the knew chord, which sounded much lower. “Stoic, good posture… long fingers, dark suits, dark hair-“

He continued listing as he moved Seonghwa’s right hand as well, playing a new chord with it.

“The confidence of someone who knows what they’re doing… The sort of expression that makes you wonder if they have just a  _ little _ bit of constipation-“

Seonghwa turned quickly, about to snap something in his defense as he caught sight of Hongjoong grinning widely and bright.

“And of course,” he said, withdrawing his hands from Seonghwa’s as he straightened slightly, “devilishly handsome enough to make everyone forget that they’re listening to boring classical music.”

Seonghwa’s offended snap broke off, his expression pulling down into accusing confusion. “Kim Hongjoong, are you saying that I’m devilishly handsome?” he asked, voice breaking with a bit of a laugh near the end.

Hongjoong loved to tease. Not just Seonghwa, but all his team.

And Hongjoong laughed as he withdrew from their little intimate position, walking around to lean against the side of the piano.

“What I’m saying is that I’m not blind,” he said pointedly, giving Seonghwa a knowing look. “And that I think it’s hard for anyone not to look handsome while playing piano, but that you look  _ very _ handsome playing piano.” 

Seonghwa chuckled, turning on the bench, until he was able to stand. “Well, you meet a few of those pianist criteria, but so many of them miss you- are you sure you’re not scamming me about being able to play beautifully?”

Hongjoong laughed, stepping around Seonghwa airily and taking his place on the little black bench. “I’m a complete fraud,” he said, leaning his head back to stare at Seonghwa with a grin as his hands flew over the keys in a rather overt showing of scales.

Show off. 

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, walking towards the couch. “Why were you late?” he questioned, sitting down and crossing his legs, watching Hongjoong begin warming up his fingers. “Did you have a late night that actually ended in you going home?”

Hongjoong smiled coyly, looking at Seonghwa with a delicately raised eyebrow. “Maybe I had a date.”

Seonghwa lifted an eyebrow in turn. “Did you have a date?”

“And if I did?” Hongjoong asked, looking like a rabbit enjoying the circles he was chasing in.

Seonghwa didn’t rise to the bait as he blinked in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were looking for people.” He shrugged. “But I don’t see how it’s any of my business.”

“You wouldn’t care?” Hongjoong asked curiously. “Not even as my friend?”

Seonghwa laughed. “What am I supposed to say?” he questioned, raising his hands helplessly. “If you had a date, I’m happy for you. If not… then I hope you find someone, if you’re looking.”

Hongjoong hummed, looking dissatisfied, making a face. “What about you?” he questioned. “Are you dating?”

He snorted. “Hongjoong, you know very well my social life is nonexistent.”

“But what if you found the perfect person?” he asked seriously, his hands falling still, laying limp against the keys as he looked over at Seonghwa. “Would you date them? If you found them?”

Seonghwa blinked, wanting to question what the sudden obsession with dating was, but he and Hongjoong had talked about weirder things.

“I’m not looking to date right now,” he said honestly. “I’m focusing on work.”

“Even if that person could work with your schedule?” Hongjoong questioned, turning more towards to Seonghwa with innocent eyes. “If you found… someone you  _ really _ liked… would you still say no? Just because of work?”

Hongjoong spoke just a little too desperately. 

Seonghwa frowned gently. “Hongjoong, did something happen?” he questioned. “Did you… Are you looking to date someone, or… Did you get rejected?”

He honestly had no clue what Hongjoong was talking about, but he wasn’t smiling anymore, staring at Seonghwa with something… a little heavy in his eyes.

Hongjoong suddenly turned away, back to the piano as he laid his fingers in position. “I got drunk.”

His frown deepened. “What?”

Hongjoong didn’t look at him, beginning to play a light melody. “I got drunk last night, at home,” he said quietly, staring at his fingers. “That’s why I was late.”

Seonghwa wasn’t exactly… concerned, but he knew that Hongjoong was acting like he was in some sort of mood.

“You don’t… sound very happy that you got drunk…” Seonghwa noted, sitting forward slightly. “Hongjoong, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied without missing a beat, a smile reaching his lips that didn’t reach his eyes when he glanced at Seonghwa. “I just got in the mood for soju and didn’t realize how much I’d had.” He laughed awkwardly at his own lack of judgement.

But Seonghwa stood slowly, stepping over the piano. “Hongjoong… if there’s something going on… you can tell me,” he said gently, wondering what could have upset him.

Or if there even was something upsetting him. 

Maybe he was just in a mood, like he sometimes was. 

But this seemed different than his normal moods. It was too sudden when just minutes ago he was laughing. 

Hongjoong wasn’t one to turn to alcohol when he was upset. More often than not, he came to Seonghwa- either angry or in tears to vent his issues.

“There’s nothing going on,” he replied innocently, though he didn’t look at Seonghwa, his fingers slowing down gradually. “I just got a little too drunk last night,” he chuckled. “Am I in trouble for being late?” he asked cheekily, throwing a grin over his shoulder at Seonghwa.

This time, it seemed more genuine, and Seonghwa almost let it go.

Except his entire gut was telling him something was wrong.

“Hongjoong… why don’t you take the day off,” he suggested gently, watching Hongjoong abruptly stop playing, turning to him with shocked eyes. “If you got drunk last night, you’re probably still tired, and a little hung over.”

“I-“

“It’s just practice today,” Seonghwa said quietly, offering a small smile. “In a few days, we have a meeting for a promotional deal, but today was just going to be spent inside. Why don’t you just… take today for yourself, if you need to. If you don’t need to… just think of it as a reward for doing well this tour.”

He smiled quietly, and Hongjoong stared as if he had just cursed violently, shocked and eyes wide.

“I- I don’t need the day off,” he said firmly. “I have no reason to take the day off-“

“You haven’t taken a day off in months,” Seonghwa reminded him.

He’d hoped that getting off of tour would give Hongjoong time to rest up from the stress of it, but in true Hongjoong fashion, he’d thrown himself into composing the very next day.

“Just take a day for yourself, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa told him, gesturing openly with his hands. “Go shopping or watch TV at home, or something. Whatever you want-“

“I  _ want _ to sit here and compose,” Hongjoong said firmly, shocked expression turning down into determination. “Seonghwa, you can’t just kick me out-“

“I’m not kicking you out,” Seonghwa said quickly, frowning because how could Hongjoong have ever gotten that out of what he was doing. “Hongjoong-“

“I don’t want a day off,” Hongjoong pressed, frowning. “And if you give me it, I’m still just going to spend it sitting right here.”

His tone had turned almost… aggressive. A tone that Hongjoong  _ never _ took on. 

“Hongjoong, you can’t work on music 24/7. You just had a tour, and…” Seonghwa bit his tongue for a moment before allowing it to open. “You can’t convince me you’re alright right now,” he said firmly. “And it doesn’t take knowing you for five years to be able to see that something’s upset you.”

Hongjoong’s determination warped into something defensive, and then something locking down in what looked like deflective anger.

“Fine,” he said flatly, standing and grabbing the sheets of paper from the top of the piano. “I’ll take a day off.”

He started walking away, but Seonghwa caught him by the elbow quickly. “Hongjoong- I’m not trying to punish you,” he said firmly, pulling him to a stop, though Hongjoong didn’t look back at him. “I’m not trying to push you away, or anything like that. But I know that something must have happened, and I want you to be able to deal with it, if it’s bothering you-“

“Fine, I’ll deal with it,” he said, not even glancing at Seonghwa.

“Hongjoong, look at me,” he pressed, not quite begging, though his voice was a little desperate in its gentleness. “I didn’t think I had to say this… but I care about you, Hongjoong. And if you’re going through something- even if it’s just a shitty day- you can talk to me.”

Except Seonghwa didn’t understand. Because Hongjoong had been normal, maybe even happier than normal, when he first came in.

What the hell could have happened in the last few minutes?

Was Hongjoong looking for someone to date? Did he get rejected? Is that why he was so obsessed with it?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seonghwa offered quietly to the back of Hongjoong’s hair. “We could go to a café somewhere, if you-“

“No,” Hongjoong said flatly. “I’m just going to go home.”

“Hongjoong-“

He tugged his arm from Seonghwa’s grip pointedly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hongjoong marched from the room, leaving Seonghwa feeling as if he had somehow, unknowingly, just ruined something.

He watched Hongjoong go, but couldn’t bring himself to chase after him.

He glanced back at the piano, a ghost sensation of small hands over his following him as he gathered his things and left.

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Hongjoong was already sitting and playing at the piano when Seonghwa arrived with a schedule that included a photoshoot for his next album.

The practice room door was already propped open when Seonghwa arrived in his usual dark suit, and he passed through it, taking only a single step into the room before pausing.

Hongjoong was already at the piano, his back to the door, giving Seonghwa a view of his dark hair that had grown a bit wild in the back, especially when he didn’t brush it. He dressed in a pristine white button up, a pair of dark grey slacks covering his lower half, and his feet bare where they pressed the pedals- his shoes tossed off beside the piano.

However, Hongjoong attire was not what made Seonghwa hesitate.

He observed, for a moment, trying to see if there was any leftover anger from yesterday as Hongjoong moved with the movement of his fingers across the keys.

But it wasn’t until then that Seonghwa actually registered the sounds coming from the piano, reaching and filling every corner of the practice room.

It was slow, high in melody, with a low and foreboding bassline that made Seonghwa… feel as if something was terribly wrong. 

For the first time… Seonghwa felt no inclination to smile as Hongjoong played, the music making his heart constrict, as if telling him to cry.

The tempo went faster, the music becoming more intense, until “sad” changed to something like “anger.”

Maybe “helplessness.”

But it was something that Seonghwa had never heard from Hongjoong’s fingers in all of five years.

Silence suddenly tabbed into the music, cutting it off as if it were a tape suddenly out of something to play.

Hongjoong was still and silent. But even from behind… Seonghwa could make out his hands shaking as he pulled them away from the keys.

“What was that?”

Hongjoong jumped, clearly not having sensed Seonghwa, whipping around with wide eyes as he gripped the bench tightly.

It looked like he hadn’t slept well, but when Hongjoong caught sight of him, some of the shock faded into a small smile that…  _ almost _ reached his eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted, turning back around.

“What was that?” Seonghwa repeated quietly, stepping further into the room until he stood beside the piano that Hongjoong continued to plunk at. “What you were playing?”

“Just something I’m messing around with,” Hongjoong said, glancing up with a quiet smile. “I threw it together on the keyboard at home, and I wanted to see what it sounded like on a grand.” He lifted an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

It was clear that Hongjoong wasn’t back to 100%. But the anger was gone, and if anything, there seemed to only remain a tired sort of sadness, or a weight in the back of his eyes as he smiled- genuine, but muted at Seonghwa.

“It sounded… very sad,” Seonghwa said honestly. “The kind of song that would make people cry.”

“Was it good?” Hongjoong questioned, looking up at Seonghwa, eyes innocent despite their weight.

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “Yes… but I’ve never heard you play something like that before.”

He shrugged, turning back to stare at the keys. “I’m just trying a few different styles. While we’re not busy touring.”

Everything in Seonghwa was screaming at him not to bring it up, for fear of starting another fight, but he pressed his lips together.

“Are you… alright after yesterday?” Seonghwa questioned carefully. “I’m… I’m sorry for forcing you to take the day off-“

“Thank you,” Hongjoong said, genuine and rich and normal as he glanced up at Seonghwa with a smile. “I was… an asshole yesterday,” he said bluntly, laughing quietly. “And it helped, having you kick my ass. It was good, having yesterday off.” His smile widened, his eyes scrunching. “I should have known you always know best.”

Seonghwa didn’t feel content or satisfied.

He stared at Hongjoong, still not quite reaching worry, before nodding slowly. “Is it… something you’d want to talk about now?” he asked slowly.

Hongjoong shook his head gently. “No, I… I think I’ve got myself back on track. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for having something happen,” Seonghwa said firmly, expression pinching. “I was just… worried, before.”

Hongjoong nodded firmly, looking up with a large smile. “But I feel better after that. So what’s on the schedule for today?”

Seonghwa didn’t know what else to do. So he simply rattled off what time they had the appointment for the photoshoot, and let Hongjoong nod along until returning to practice.

Seonghwa took his seat on the couch, trying to go through emails and such.

But he kept getting distracted.

Hongjoong didn’t play a single song that didn’t make Seonghwa want to cry all day.

~~~~~~~~~

After three days, there were no visible signs of Hongjoong’s anger and sadness.

When he entered, he greeted Seonghwa like normal, and smiled with all the brightness of the rising sun as he sat and asked what they were doing today.

He bumped shoulders with Seonghwa as they walked to lunch, and he kept up conversation about what he wanted to do for his new album they were working on.

His eyes never lost that familiar spark Seonghwa was used to seeing.

And the only thing to ever suggest that Hongjoong had ever had a blip in his regular behavior was the change in his choice of musical genre.

In nearly two weeks, Seonghwa had heard only a handful of songs that brought back that image of bright meadows and babbling brooks.

Most everything else Hongjoong was working on lately sounded like cold winters and the sort of houses that kept secrets hidden in corners.

And it was still so  _ beautiful _ . 

So heartbreaking and intriguing, the sort of images that Hongjoong could force into your mind with only a few notes. It was so beautiful to listen to, but Seonghwa knew that the change wasn’t just a shift in his musical vision.

But he didn’t press it. Because perhaps, Hongjoong was just tired of creating something happy all the time. Perhaps he did just want a change, regardless of what emotions fueled that change.

So, Seonghwa let it happen, sitting and having to stop himself from crying a couple of times a day as he listened to Hongjoong play cold, lonely songs, giving his opinion when asked.

And it wasn’t until the middle of that second week, when Hongjoong asked what he thought about one particularly high piece that sounded like walking through a cemetery in snow, that Hongjoong stopped, frowning at Seonghwa when he said it was beautiful.

“You don’t like it…” he said quietly, bluntly.

“It’s beautiful,” Seonghwa repeated, taken aback by the accusation. “It’s the sort of piece that could make you cry without any reason needed-“

“But you don’t like it,” Hongjoong pressed, turning in his seat towards Seonghwa. “Whether it’s beautiful or not, you don’t like it…”

Seonghwa held his tongue before firing back an immediate reassurance. He held Hongjoong’s accusation for a moment, staring at it and mulling it over his mind, once, twice, thrice… before he glanced up at Hongjoong with a gentle expression.

“Like I said… it’s the kind of piece you could cry to,” he said quietly, smiling gently. “I mean… sometimes, people don’t want to cry, so maybe they wouldn’t feel in the mood for it. But, if someone needed a good cry? I think it would be-“

“But  _ you _ don’t like it.” 

Hongjoong stared, unwilling to let Seonghwa talk his way around it.

And Seonghwa held his breath for a moment before sighing quietly. “It isn’t that I don’t like it,” he said firmly. “It’s just… a sad song.”

“You don’t like sad songs?” Hongjoong asked, something bordering on another accusation, but it fell into a knowing statement.

A flicker of that mood appeared in his eyes again. 

Seonghwa shrugged gently. “Everyone has a mood for different types of songs. Just because I might not be in the mood now, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love it later on.”

“You’ve never needed to be in the right mood for my songs, before.” Hongjoong frowned, something almost… betrayed in his eyes. Maybe something hurt.

Seonghwa blinked, opening his mouth to quickly correct it, but he held his tongue yet again, forming his response before letting it go. The combination of the music and his now unsteady standing before Hongjoong was enough to make his eyes burn slightly.

“Hongjoong… different types of music come with different things. Just because this particular piece may need a special mood-“ He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair. “I enjoy it- I really do. It’s a  _ beautiful _ piece, Hongjoong. It takes a special talent to be able to make people cry with music-“

There was a jarring, dissonant slam of notes as Hongjoong’s hands slammed on the keys as he stood abruptly, the bench screeching on the floor as it was shoved back.

“I’m not trying to make you fucking cry!” Hongjoong snapped, something angry and frustrated and heartbreaking as he slammed the chaotic notes again before storming from the practice room.

Fast enough that Seonghwa could have sworn he was running.

Seonghwa stood quickly, mouth open to call for him, but the practice room door was slamming shut behind him before he even took a breath.

And now, Seonghwa felt like he’d been slapped… and then shut out.

He lowered his hand slowly, feeling emotions welling in his eyes that he refused to let out. He didn’t want to cry.

If he cried, then that might mean it was Hongjoong’s fault, and it wasn’t his fault, because he was clearly going through something, and Seonghwa shouldn’t be… be…

Well, Seonghwa didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He didn’t know what line he kept crossing to upset Hongjoong. But it was clear that Hongjoong wasn’t able or wasn’t willing to tell him what the line was.

Lips pressed together, Seonghwa walked across the practice room slowly. Hongjoong was a grown adult, and he didn’t need Seonghwa following after him like a parent after a toddler, no matter what his job description may say.

But Hongjoong was also his friend.

Sort of his only friend, at this point, after work and just… life put his social life on hold.

Seonghwa picked up his pace, opening the practice room door in time to see the door that led to outside slam shut.

He ran down the hall- not sprinting, but making his way with enough purpose to not make Hongjoong feel like he was hunting him down.

He expected to have to chase him down the streets, frantically calling his phone and just begging for him to pick up.

Instead, he found Hongjoong seated on the steps of the building, his head in his hands and his body curled, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. For a moment, Seonghwa almost retreated, heading back inside and forgetting he ever saw anything- to wait for Hongjoong to make the choice to come to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa didn’t know what had happened. In the space of time between when everything was okay and when it all fell apart, he hadn’t seen any warning signs.

He just knew that suddenly… Hongjoong was not okay. Or at least, was less okay than he had been. And Seonghwa didn’t know if it was something to do with relationships or if it was just a funk, or maybe even if it was just a more visible onset of a problem he’d been having for who knew how long…

But this was Seonghwa’s friend. And he was hurting. Why or for how long didn’t matter, at the moment.

Seonghwa stepped forward quietly, almost waiting for Hongjoong to bolt at the sound of his approach, but he didn’t move. He made it all the way to the first step and down to the third step that Hongjoong sat on.

He stood for a moment, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t only upset him further because Seonghwa still didn’t know where the  _ line _ was.

So Seonghwa didn’t say a word- too unsure of himself- and instead, he simply sat on the step beside Hongjoong, glancing at him, though his entire face was hidden in his arms and knees that were curled up.

Silently, Seonghwa hugged him.

In an awkward, odd hold because Hongjoong was curled up, but Seonghwa wrapped his arms around whatever he could reach and pulled him close. 

Hongjoong tilted, not loosening his hold on himself one bit, but he didn’t shove Seonghwa off either.

All Seonghwa could see was the wild slight-curling of Hongjoong’s hair, his face still hidden, but he was able to hold Hongjoong tightly enough to make him feel like he was making a difference.

Especially after a few moments of sitting like stone, when Hongjoong slowly lowered his knees and hands from their defensive positions, ever so slowly, like watching a flower bloom.

His face was kept hidden from Seonghwa, but Hongjoong shifted towards him so, so slowly, as if he was the one afraid that Seonghwa would bolt. 

And so very carefully, Hongjoong wrapped his arms around Seonghwa, too, loose and a little weak but his head tucking against Seonghwa’s shoulder, buried in the fabric of his suit.

Hongjoong took a shaky breath, his fingers curled loosely in the back of Seonghwa’s suit. “Is… Is this okay?” he whispered, sounding either near tears or in the midst of them.

And something in Seonghwa… broke a little bit as he wondered where the hell he had failed as a friend.

He held Hongjoong closer, easier now that he was uncurled, but he held him tight enough he heard Hongjoong’s breath hitch.

“Of course it’s fucking okay,” Seonghwa hissed, eyes clenching shut. “Hongjoong-“ He cut off as Hongjoong curled against him further, his arms and fingers tightening their grip on Seonghwa tenfold. “Hongjoong, I’m your  _ friend _ ,” he whispered hoarsely, chest aching. “You don’t have to fucking worry about asking for a hug.”

“I- I know,” Hongjoong murmured wetly into Seonghwa’s suit, head tucked deeper into the fabric. “I know you’re my friend, Seonghwa- I swear-“

He took a careful breath that couldn’t hide his tremors.

“I- I don’t know why I’m being like this,” Hongjoong hissed, shaking his head against Seonghwa’s shoulder helplessly. “I’m being fucking  _ stupid _ and weird, and I’m sorry-“ 

“It’s not stupid to have problems, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said firmly, one hand rubbing warm circles in the small of his back. “Even if you don’t want to talk about them- Even if you don’t know what the problem is, it’s not stupid-“

“I  _ am _ being stupid,” Hongjoong pressed roughly, and where Seonghwa expected him to pull away, he tugged Seonghwa closer. “I’m making a stupid problem where there isn’t one, and now I can’t get it out of my fucking  _ head- _ “

His voice broke a bit, and Seonghwa was silent, chewing the inside of his lip, like that might encourage the right words to come.

“It’s still… not stupid,” Seonghwa said quietly, tucking his chin on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “If you want to… talk it out, I’ll listen, Hongjoong. Or if you… just need to cry or something-“

Hongjoong laughed, wet and a little heartbreaking. “I’m so sick and tired of crying,” he whispered roughly. “I’m sick of writing things that make people want to cry.”

Seonghwa hadn’t realized Hongjoong had been crying lately. 

“It’s not  _ bad _ to cry, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa assured, wishing he could see his expression just for a moment. “It’s natural, and it can be the best thing, when you’re sad without the words to say what you feel.”

He felt Hongjoong tense, his head shaking slowly against Seonghwa’s shoulder. 

“I never want to make you cry, Seonghwa,” he murmured, so quiet that Seonghwa almost missed it, the words taking a minute to register before he felt something… almost like relief? But it felt half-real.

“You’ve never made me cry, Hongjoong,” he chuckled quietly, his heart still heavy. “Is that what this is about? Me saying that your piece made me want to cry? I told you, Hongjoong, it’s a beautiful thing when you can evoke emotions-“

“Those aren’t the emotions I want to evoke in you,” Hongjoong sighed harshly, tugging away with enough intent that Seonghwa let him go, allowing Hongjoong to resume his position of burying his face in his hands, one hand running messily through his dark locks.

Seonghwa still couldn’t see what was going on in his head, but he felt… a little better. A little hopeful, that maybe the problem wasn’t as detrimental as he thought. But he kept it tucked away.

“Hongjoong… it’s not just about me,” he said, the barest hint of a quiet laugh on the edge of his tone. “Even if I hated a piece you wrote, there are still a million people- more than that- who would love it. It’s not just about me-“

“Maybe it’s not just you,” Hongjoong admitted, a frustrated sigh on his lips. “But you matter more than they do.”

Seonghwa managed a weak, sad smile. “Hongjoong, you can’t just cater to me. The piece you wrote was beautiful. And if you’re tired of writing sad pieces, we can go get some inspiration somewhere else- something that’ll make you want to write a happier piece.”

Seonghwa may not understand the intricacies of the musician and his muse. But he did know Hongjoong. And he knew that he was sad, and he was tired of being that. So, he offered the only paths he knew, and he tried to help.

Hongjoong glanced over at Seonghwa, eyes pensive and withdrawn, as if he… wasn’t sure where Seonghwa stood, or what entirely he intended. Which was weird, because Seonghwa was pretty sure he was making himself quite clear.

He wanted to help. 

But Hongjoong swallowed thickly, looking ready to say a million things- as if the words were waiting to burst out like notes on a piano. Seonghwa waited, ready to hear them as eagerly as he did his music, hopeful and expectant.

But Hongjoong just wet his lips weakly, looking away from Seonghwa. “Can we… get something to eat?” he asked, voice a little dull and flat. 

But especially if it meant making sure that Hongjoong was actually eating during this sadness, Seonghwa was more than on board.

“Of course. Wherever you want,” he offered readily.

Hongjoong wiped at his eyes with his sleeves, though they came away dry. “Somewhere private,” he murmured. “I don’t feel like being around people.”

Seonghwa called and made a request for a private room at a brunch restaurant they frequented, him and Hongjoong beginning their walk there.

Hongjoong was silent, hands in his dress pants pockets and his eyes on the ground. Seonghwa didn’t try and break the silence, but he did risk brushing their arms a few times, just as a reminder that he was there.

On the third brush, Hongjoong glanced up, almost looking confused, but Seonghwa tried to offer a quiet, barely-there smile.

Hongjoong stared at him for a moment, as if stunned. And then something in his expression lightened in the most heartbreaking way possible.

Like someone finally seeing a light at the end of the storm.

Hongjoong lowered his head again, but the dark cloud over his head had turned to a lighter grey.

They ordered at the restaurant, tucked away from any prying eyes, and Seonghwa handled talking to the waitress, so Hongjoong wouldn’t have to. By the time their food was in front of them, Hongjoong had managed to lift his head where it had hung low, taking a sip of his mimosa with a pensive expression.

As he set the glass down, Hongjoong took a deep breath, swallowing as he nodded, looking determined.

“Can you talk to me?” he asked, voice stronger than before. “Like… Just like we normally do?”

To Seonghwa, it didn’t sound like trying to deflect or run away, but like trying to find normalcy again.

So Seonghwa smiled, despite the weight in his chest, and talked about the first thing that came to his mind, which was the beginning of recording for his album coming up. Hongjoong didn’t respond much beyond a nod or a hum, but Seonghwa kept talking.

He moved quickly from work related things to talking about his laundry that had gotten messed up in the washer because he forgot a pen in his pocket. And the kimchi in his fridge that had gone bad this week, right when he wanted it most. And the grocery store that was out of green onions.

“Green onions,” Seonghwa stressed, their plates virtually untouched from how much he talked. “How the hell do you run out of green onions?” he demanded, stricken and betrayed.

For the first time that day… Hongjoong laughed. Light and airy, still weighed down by the morning, but genuine enough that a smile remained on his face even after it passed.

Seonghwa’s chest unlocked as he talked about finding his favorite ice cream they were usually sold out of at the convenience store.

And for that lunch, things felt normal for a moment. And Hongjoong smiled, as if that one laugh had broken through a wall he’d been trying to scale. When they walked back to the practice room, Hongjoong finally opened his mouth to speak as well.

About his elevator in his building that was broken, so he’d been using the stairs. About the nice lady down the hall who gave him some rice cakes when she made too many.

When they reached the practice room, Hongjoong stared at the piano for a moment before sitting down, laying his hands across it.

“Okay,” he murmured under his breath. “Let’s see what we can do.”

He began playing something akin to a minuet, a little delicately bouncy and quick. And almost instinctively, Seonghwa’s lips twitched, the sound familiar and almost comforting.

But the smile faded slightly as he stepped up beside Hongjoong at the piano.

“Hongjoong… you don’t have to be happy… all the time,” he said quietly, Hongjoong’s hands abruptly stilling on the keys. He swallowed quietly. “Even if you don’t want to be sad anymore… you don’t have to be happy.”

Hongjoong was still, staring at his fingers still holding whatever chords he was in the middle of playing. “But… I am happy,” he murmured quietly, slowly dragging his hands off the keys, letting them fall into his lap.

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa for a moment, analyzing his face in innocence, before a slow smile stretched across his lips, as if he had just thought of something that made him very happy.

“Really,” he said, the light of his smile reaching his eyes as he stared up at Seonghwa. “I really am… happy right now, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa scanned his face, too, trying to find a crack or lie in his smile that made his eyes brighter than Seonghwa had seen in weeks. And Seonghwa knew that just because something bad was happening… didn’t mean you couldn’t be happy.

So even if the problem was still present in the back of Hongjoong’s mind… Seonghwa believed he was being genuine by saying he was happy now.

And Seonghwa couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, Hongjoong’s seeming to grow in response. “I’m glad,” he said honestly, voice a little rough.

Hongjoong’s lips trembled a bit, but not in a way that made it look like it was about to break. It just looked like it wanted to get wider, but couldn’t.

He turned back to the piano, readying his fingers again, and Seonghwa turned to go to the sofa, to give him space.

But before he even took a step, Hongjoong called him back.

“Stay over here,” Hongjoong requested, his expression lighter than ever, looking as if he could finally breathe. “You always ignore me and sit on the couch- stay over here and talk to me.”

Seonghwa was already complying, resting his hip carefully against the side of the grand as he smiled quietly at Hongjoong. “I’m not ignoring you, I’m working for you.”

Hongjoong hummed, beginning to play something low but rapidly ascending to high notes. “Well, stop working for me if it means you ignore me.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Seonghwa chuckled, his chest unlocking the final binding that was choking it. “You get mad when people interrupt your flow.”

His melody that he was playing slowed a bit, becoming softer, but not stopping as Hongjoong’s expression softened in turn. “Not you,” he said, innocent and surreal. “I’m never mad at you for anything you do.”

Seonghwa didn’t bring up that just a couple of weeks ago, Hongjoong had been quite mad at Seonghwa for telling him to take a day off.

Hongjoong winced slightly. “I’ve never been mad at  _ you, _ ” he repeated firmly. “I’ve been mad at myself,” he clarified. “And you’ve gotten caught in the unfortunate crossfire.” He played a bit more, lips thinning. “I’m sorry.”

“If you apologize one more time, I’m cutting your piano strings.”

Hongjoong laughed, head falling forward, and one of his fingers misstepping on a note that sounded out of place, but Seonghwa didn’t even hear the dissonant note.

All he heard was the chord of notes that harmonized in Hongjoong’s laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seonghwa wasn’t sure if Hongjoong really did just need to talk it out, cry it out, or realize that what he was feeling was okay, but over the next two weeks, his mood improved tremendously.

He played his brighter songs with the hesitancies of someone not sure if they remember how, and the sad songs were few and far between- really only used to steal a chord progression to work into his now meadow-y ensemble.

It was a bit too far along in their album creation to rewrite everything, so Hongjoong began carefully orchestrating his album to begin with the sad songs that made you want to cry, and slowly worked towards brighter songs that felt like a breath of fresh air after a dreary day.

Seonghwa loved it.

But what he loved more was the smile on Hongjoong’s face when he arrived each morning and the laughs that he no longer hoarded away and the punches and bumps to Seonghwa that he delivered without hesitation now.

Those few weeks of darkness passed quickly, but they had felt like a lifetime.

And now, Hongjoong almost seemed to be making up for lost time, tugging Seonghwa to sit on the bench with him while he played most every day (which impeded him at times, but was ultimately amusing to be within close range).

(Seonghwa was banned, occasionally, for poking Hongjoong’s side and tickling the crook of his elbow. But that wasn’t exactly fair because no less than three times, Hongjoong shoved Seonghwa off the bench for laughing during his process.)

(But he wasn’t laughing at the process. He laughed because Hongjoong looked happy again and Seonghwa couldn’t help it.)

They went to lunch, and they talked like normal. Hongjoong laughed, and so did Seonghwa, and they discussed the album.

They went to recordings and photoshoots (the beautiful black and white kind that always made Seonghwa want to tease Hongjoong endlessly for coming across so “devilishly handsome”). They went about their lives, as normal.

And Seonghwa was so, so grateful.

And it was on one of those days when Hongjoong demanded that Seonghwa sit beside him on the bench, that Hongjoong smiled as he played, and Seonghwa split his attention between him and responding to the transportation company about moving pianos.

He paid more attention to Hongjoong than the company. 

Hongjoong suddenly stopped playing. “Okay,” he said quietly, smile quiet and gentle. “Tell me what you think of this one.”

Obediently, Seonghwa locked his phone, set it down, and closed his eyes.

He readied his ears, trying to pick up even the gentlest of sounds, his hands resting in his lap.

He waited, but the silence stretched on, much longer than Hongjoong ever readied himself with.

Frowning slightly, Seonghwa opened his eyes.

Hongjoong was staring at him, his hands ready on the keys but not moving as his head twisted to look at Seonghwa.

His lips were parted slightly, eyes staring at Seonghwa…

Well, Seonghwa didn’t think Hongjoong had ever really looked at him like before. Something… almost marveling in his gaze.

The sort of expression you might have when hearing a song that made you want to cry.

Hongjoong looked away as soon as Seonghwa opened his eyes, clearing his throat. “Right, sorry, just making sure they were closed,” he chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

Seonghwa stared for a moment longer, but nodded, closing his eyes once more and the music began.

The piece that played… was the most bittersweet thing Seonghwa had ever heard.

At first, he thought that Hongjoong had reverted back to the sad songs that made Seonghwa’s heart sink so very low, but as soon as the pit of his stomach disappeared, the tempo changed, the melody lifting as it became higher and faster.

Happier.

The song followed that pattern: dropping low into something almost melancholy and pitiful, before rising back up into what felt like running through fresh, tall grass that the wind tugged at.

It felt like running through a field in a sun shower- like icy rain on your skin, but you were smiling through it.

As if there was something… freeing about being sad.

The notes faded away, and Seonghwa didn’t dare open his eyes, letting the image of rain-dusted meadows slowly fade from his mind as well.

It was… a peaceful song. Neither uplifting, nor depressing.

It almost felt like the kind of song that meant… “it’s okay.”

Releasing a quiet breath, Seonghwa opened his eyes, finding Hongjoong staring at him.

The marveling expression was gone, replaced with curious expectancy for his opinion.

Seonghwa smiled quietly, nodding. “I like it. A lot,” he said gently.

Hongjoong smiled- not bright or vibrant, but quiet and small, almost like a secret, as he stared at his fingers. “I spent most of last night trying to piece it all together… Did it sound too jumpy?”

Seonghwa shook his head. “No. It was lovely… It was beautiful.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew slightly, his fingers lacing together. “You really like it?” he insisted. “I want to make it the closing for the album.”

“I think it’s the perfect wrap up for the others,” Seonghwa assured him honestly, his chest warm with the feeling of rain on his skin. “And I think you blended the two parts beautifully. I can’t think of a single way to make it better.”

Hongjoong’s chest swelled as his grin grew broader, looking proud. “Thanks… I’m sure my team will find something they want to change, though,” he chuckled, looking ready to fight them to keep it as it was.

He sounded a bit breathless, but Seonghwa just smiled back. “Everything you write is beautiful, Hongjoong. And a million people are going to love it.”

Hongjoong laughed under his breath, airy and light as he turned, staring at the ivory keys and dragging the tips of his fingers across them. “Can I ask you…a question I’ve been thinking about for a while?”

Seonghwa lifted an eyebrow curiously. “What question?” He smiled. “Is it so bad you had to think about it?”

Hongjoong chuckled, but it was a little forced. “It’s not… that I had to think about it. But I… I’ve been trying to wait for the right time. And I’m not sure a right time exists, but I’m terrified that if I put it off any longer- now that I have your attention- that I’ll be too scared to ever say it.” 

Seonghwa frowned slightly, chest tightening in apprehension. “You’ll always have my attention when you need it, Hongjoong.”

Another chuckle. “Oh, I know,” he murmured. “You’ve… given me a lot, Seonghwa. More than just company and attention.” He nodded to himself, as if thoroughly convinced. 

Seonghwa, however, was a bit lost. “Is your… question about me giving you attention?” 

Hongjoong laughed- more genuine and open, but it mellowed into something thoughtful. “Do you remember… when I was having that breakdown…”

Seonghwa blinked in surprise at the reference, but remained silent, letting him speak.

Hongjoong cleared his throat gently, eyes distant as they trailed along the ivory and onyx. “You told me a million people would love my work… And that I shouldn’t just cater to you. And I told you… that you matter more than they do.”

He said it still with such conviction, such belief, that Seonghwa still didn’t know how he was meant to take such a vehement statement. 

He frowned every so slightly, but mostly felt confusion tugging at his chest. “I remember,” he said quietly.

Hongjoong wet his lips, hands falling still. “I… I meant it,” he murmured with a gentle conviction. “I  _ really _ mean it, Seonghwa,” he whispered. “A single good word from you is worth more than a million people applauding me.”

For some reason… Seonghwa felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

And it was only made worse at the thought that Hongjoong had been mulling over this for weeks, at this point. 

“And a single half-bad word from you,” Hongjoong continued on quietly, “makes me want to keep fixing it, over and over, until I can make something you love.”

“I love all of your music, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said firmly, turning to face him on the bench they shared, brow pulling down. “Anything I ever say about your music is  _ never _ -“

“I know that,” Hongjoong assured him, not looking over, fingers tensing as his expression tightened. “I know that, Seonghwa…” He trailed off, swallowing.

Seonghwa kept waiting, apprehensive, but not… afraid. 

“You’re my muse, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong murmured, still not looking at Seonghwa. 

Very purposefully not looking at him.

“You have been for longer than I can remember,” he pressed firmly, blinking a bit rapidly. “I don’t even remember when I started writing with the intent of having you enjoy it. But I know that when I looked at you… I felt a million melodies in my head that I  _ had _ to write out.”

Seonghwa knew he was a lot of things to Hongjoong. 

His muse had never been named as one of those things.

And somehow, the title built a kindling fire in Seonghwa’s chest, but also a tight knot of confusion and apprehension. 

“Your muse?” he questioned, making Hongjoong’s fingers skirt soundlessly across the keys. “What… I inspire you?”

Which was ridiculous, really. 

Because Hongjoong build masterpieces, and Seonghwa just listened to pretty music. 

Seonghwa was practically a blank sheet of paper compared to the multi-instrument orchestra that played in Hongjoong’s mind. 

What, exactly, was inspiring about Seonghwa, compared to someone who practically worked magic? 

But Hongjoong chuckled quietly, shoulders rising. “Every fucking day,” he laughed gently, glancing at Seonghwa and then quickly away.

His eyes looked shiny, but still Seonghwa said nothing, jaw tight. 

“You’ve been my friend for a long time,” Hongjoong murmured, pressing a random key that released a quiet sound. “And very quickly you turned into something I took inspiration from. Just because you were you. You were something... I wanted to impress.”

“I’m always impressed-“

“I  _ know _ ,” Hongjoong stressed quietly, and while his voice was strained, there was something… almost happy floating in it.

Seonghwa heard no sadness in Hongjoong.

But it sounded as if he was struggling to find the words. 

Words he had been searching for for a while now, apparently. And Seonghwa wanted to apologize for making him go it alone, but the words wouldn’t come for him either. 

“I know,” Hongjoong repeated firmly. “But I started… I started noticing that you would smile while I was playing…”

Hongjoong’s mouth pricked up in a quiet, tight smile that flooded his eyes.

“And I would watch you smile… and it made me want to never stop playing. I don’t know why, but I just kept… wanting to see it. I didn’t care whether a piece made the audience stand and clap as long as… it made you smile.”

Seonghwa frowned gently, though his expression did not darken.

Confusion still clung to his heart. But something like understanding began to tug at his throat.

“And then…” Hongjoong’s hands fell from the piano, sitting in his lap as he stared at them helplessly. “And then… you stopped smiling while I was playing.”

Seonghwa was about to demand when that happened because there never a time-

“You said… that they made you want to cry,” he went on in a near whisper, a little rough and hoarse. “And I felt like…” His expression pinched. “Like I had ruined something. Because I never… never wanted to be a reason you stopped smiling. But I was.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa broke in, concerned by the self-accusation.

Hongjoong suddenly turned to face Seonghwa, eyes a little misty, and expression vulnerable enough to have Seonghwa’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“I asked you, a while ago, if you were ever interested in dating,” Hongjoong blurted, as if he suddenly had a time limit to speak. “I told you I got drunk, and that’s why I was late that day.”

Seonghwa remembered.

He remembered sitting at the piano and plunking out notes, and then Hongjoong appearing- laying his hands over Seonghwa’s and guiding them gently, laying against Seonghwa’s back.

He remembered it vividly.

“Well, I  _ did _ get drunk,” Hongjoong told him firmly, expression pinching. “I got drunk because I was sitting at home, and I was writing pieces about you. Melodies and songs that I wanted to show you.”

Hongjoong’s hands wrung together as his tongue stumbled slightly.

“And I was so fucking  _ happy _ ,” Hongjoong pressed quickly, his voice suddenly dropping into a whisper. “I was sitting at my piano with a drink, writing for you, and I was so fucking  _ happy. _ ”

Seonghwa’s eyes suddenly burned. And he felt something almost like guilt gnaw at his stomach as he stared at Hongjoong… Awed.

“And then I remembered… that we… That you…” Hongjoong’s expression fell, lips parting but nothing coming out.

Seonghwa almost told him it was okay, but nothing was coming from Seonghwa’s mouth either.

And Seonghwa was terrified that he knew where this was going. Something… not even unspoken or unacknowledged. But something inherent between the two that never really got a chance to ever bloom.

They didn’t even try to make it bloom.

“I forgot for a minute… that what I’d been feeling was one sided,” Hongjoong murmured thickly, fingers white as he crushed them together. “And that… I never even gave you a chance to reciprocate it. I forgot that all the things I wrote about you… were just musical notes. Without a single word to even hint to you about what every piece I wrote meant.”

Hongjoong’s lip trembled, but he stilled it quickly.

“And I… I wasn’t fair to you,” He pressed, looking angry with himself. “I came in the next morning and started trying to act coyly, as if that was any way to try and ask you how you felt… and then I had the nerve to feel rejected by you, when I hadn’t even asked you a proper  _ question _ .”

There was no real question about what Hongjoong was talking about.

And part of Seonghwa felt that guilt again because… maybe the thought never crossed his mind, but maybe it should have. Maybe Seonghwa could have saved them both heartache if he had just talked about that thing, buried beneath the soil that they wouldn’t let sprout.

“I talked in circles, expecting you to understand, and then I got upset with you for not understanding.” His eyes shimmered as unshed tears gathered, chewing his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly, swallowing. “The entire time, you were trying to help, trying to show that you cared… and then I got even more angry, thinking that you were trying to push me away-“

Hongjoong’s hands suddenly lifted, pressing his heels to his eyes roughly.

He took a deep breath that he released quickly.

“And then I fell into this funk that I couldn’t get out of, where seeing you was just a stupid reminder that I was an idiot who messed up. And I knew I made a mistake, but I just… I could stop feeling so fucking  _ sad- _ “

“Hongjoong-“

“Don’t,” Hongjoong said thickly, lifting one hand to silence Seonghwa. He swallowed, his jaw tense. “And for the first time… when I tried to write about you, it just kept coming out  _ sad _ . And angry. And  _ bitter, _ and I  _ never _ wanted to feel those things about you-“

His voice broke, his head curling down to hide in his hands as he took a breath too shaky to be dry-eyed. He took another that sounded like breathing through sand.

“And you just kept saying they were  _ sad, _ and they made you want to cry, and I  _ hated _ it,” Hongjoong hissed into his palms, scrubbing at his slick cheeks and eyes, teeth gritted and lips trembling. “But I couldn’t stop  _ feeling _ like that.”

Seonghwa stopped trying to interrupt.

And instead, he just stared, his own eyes burning as Hongjoong ran his white dress shirt sleeve over his eyes, the white turning grey beneath the tears.

Seonghwa tried to think… to remember if there was ever a chance that he might have realized what Hongjoong’s mood had been about… and he couldn’t think of one.

But he wished he had.

“And you just kept  _ caring, _ ” Hongjoong hissed, torn between annoyed and broken. “You told me… You told me that it was okay to feel like that…and I  _ hated _ it because you had no idea that my feelings had to do with you, and it felt like I was twisting your words to myself, but I-“ He broke off, taking another breath. “I… realized that nothing had changed.”

The bench creaked quietly as Hongjoong shifted slightly, turned more towards Seonghwa, though his face was still hidden.

“I realized… that you still cared about me. That I had set up an unfair game in front of you, and expected you to play without even knowing the game was there. I messed up. But you… just wanted me to be okay.”

Seonghwa still wanted him to be okay.

Part of him was even more torn over the fact that Hongjoong thought that having a crush was being “not okay.” 

“Hongjoong,” he managed, voice a little breathy and weak as Hongjoong turned away, facing the piano. “You could have said something-“

“That’s the problem, I thought I was,” Hongjoong laughed wetly, rubbing at his eyes. “I thought that I had being obvious, writing all those songs… But I forgot that you didn’t know anything about what went into them. That you inspired them, and that they were specifically designed just to make you smile…”

Seonghwa thought back to the last five years.

The hundreds and hundreds of songs that he had heard Hongjoong compose, the time that went into them, the way Hongjoong asked his opinion on each one, waiting for it like a child for a lollipop…

An approval… of the gift he kept giving Seonghwa that Seonghwa hadn’t even realized was meant to be for him.

He didn’t know the songs were for him. 

“After I realized that I hadn’t… ruined anything… I went right back to writing those songs about you,” Hongjoong murmured, eyes distant. “And they were happy again. Because… I stopped focusing on how sad I was, how upset I was… and I realized that you were still there. I hadn’t actually lost anything, it just felt like I had… fucked up.”

“Hongjoong,” he broke in quietly, expression tightening. “I didn’t know-“

“I never told you,” Hongjoong stressed, finally turning to look at Seonghwa, tears stuck to his eyelashes, but his eyes clear while they stared. “So let me be clear now,” he said hoarsely.

He held his breath.

“Seonghwa…every song I ever wrote was for you,” he whispered roughly, swallowing. “All of them. Even the ones that made you want to cry. You inspired them, just by being someone by my side. And I don’t know when feeling inspired by you changed to… something more,” he said carefully, “but even after that point… they were still all for you. I haven’t cared about what my audiences think for a long fucking time.”

Seonghwa chewed his lip gently.

“Even when I played on stage,” Hongjoong assured him. “I was playing for you.”

“Hongjoong-“ Seonghwa’s voice caught, his expression tightening. “Hongjoong…  _ why? _ ” he demanded weakly.

Hongjoong shrugged helplessly. “Beats me,” he said quietly. “I don’t know why I fell for you out of all the people around me, but… once I did, I didn’t try and stop it. And after that slump a few weeks ago… I couldn’t stop feeling like I needed to explain to you. That you deserved more than just wondering what the hell happened.”

Seonghwa’s lips thinned as his mind finally began to race from the sluggish halt it had slammed to. 

“This isn’t a plea for reciprocation,” Hongjoong said firmly, though his lips fluttered a bit. “But… it’s been eating at me for weeks, the fact that I just threw all of that at you… and never explained it. And I couldn’t explain it without telling you how I felt…” He wet his lips. “I’m sorry… for putting that burden on you.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa breathed, almost wanting to laugh and cry as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s- It’s not a burden to know that-“

“It changes things,” Hongjoong pressed firmly, looking a bit more composed. “I understand that-“

“It doesn’t change things,” he disputed quickly, voice calming. “If what you’re saying is true, then I’ve hardly known you without you having feelings for me. What does it change, exactly, just because I know?”

“Because you don’t return them,” Hongjoong said assuredly, though Seonghwa could see how his jaw tightened. “And even if you did, you said you weren’t looking to date. So I’m not hoping for anything, Seonghwa. But you deserved an explanation.”

Seonghwa pressed his lips together. 

Maybe he wasn’t looking to date. 

But he was always looking at Hongjoong. 

“Hongjoong,” he said quietly, glancing him over. “There’s a difference between a generalized statement of whether I would date  _ someone _ and whether I would date  _ you. _ ”

His stomach churned at the thought that Hongjoong assumed that Seonghwa would just… turn his back. 

“You said even if you found the perfect person, you wouldn’t,” Hongjoong reminded him.

“Once again, there’s a difference, Hongjoong,” he pressed, reaching out but not touching, his fingers curling away. “Because one is a stranger that I’ve yet to meet… and the other is someone I’ve known for  _ five years. _ You’re my friend, Hongjoong. You’re not some fantasy ‘perfect person.’”

“I don’t  _ want _ you to change your mind just because it’s me,” Hongjoong insisted firmly.

“Well, tough, because it’s my decision whether or not I change my mind.”

Hongjoong blinked as if Seonghwa had just slapped him. Seonghwa’s eyes trailed over Hongjoong slowly before ending at his face.

Maybe they’d spent five years differently. 

But Seonghwa was prepared for them to finally start dancing to the same song. 

“If I asked you out… would you say yes?” Seonghwa asked, eyebrow lifted gently in quiet curiosity. 

“Seonghwa-“ He sounded like he was pleading. 

“I’m honestly just fucking elated that the issue you were having wasn’t something worse, Hongjoong,” he assured him, almost laughing with a relief that bubbled. “I was fucking scared because you were shutting me out, and I didn’t know how to help you. You falling for me is the  _ least _ terrifying thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

And honestly… the fact that Seonghwa could so easily soothe that issue… was more relieving than anything else could be. 

And also… more than a little freeing. 

Hongjoong’s lips pressed together, eyes misting over.

“Would you agree if I asked you out?” Seonghwa repeated quietly, finally letting his hovering hand land on Hongjoong’s arm gently. “Just because I haven’t spent five years pining… I hope that’s not an issue.”

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong whispered, on the verge of breaking down. “You can’t just-“

“It’s  _ dating _ , Hongjoong,” Seonghwa laughed, lifting his hand and wiping beneath his eyes at the tears clinging there. “People date strangers all the time- much less someone they’ve known for years. It’s not as if I’m entering a marriage license or something.” He smiled quietly. “I’m just willing to try.”

Because Hongjoong was someone he spent nearly every day of his life with for the past five years. 

His friend. 

Or at least, that was the only word Seonghwa’s brain had ever given him when trying to label it. But Hongjoong was more than that. They had a special relationship, a special understanding of each other…

They’d seen special sides of each other. 

Seonghwa had always sort of known it, but “friend” had been the only word he’d ever described it with.

And sitting on this bench now, Seonghwa realized how easy it would be to simply change that word to something else.

How easy it would be to change the subtle lines between types of love.

How easy getting along with Hongjoong was, and subsequently, how easy it would be to feel more for someone that Seonghwa had marveled at since the beginning. 

Because Hongjoong was unbelievably special to Seonghwa. He was vibrant and bright and sharp… and amazing in ways that Seonghwa never voiced, even to Hongjoong himself. 

That is what Hongjoong was to Seonghwa. 

“Will you close your eyes?” Hongjoong whispered, staring at Seonghwa breathlessly.

Despite having an inkling about what may happen, Seonghwa closed them obediently, as he always did when Hongjoong played his songs for him.

Hongjoong’s songs… for Seonghwa.

Every time he closed his eyes… Hongjoong had been giving Seonghwa a gift, unbeknownst to him. A gift he had carefully crafted with all his heart and mind focused on Seonghwa. 

A gift from the heart, specially crafted just for Seonghwa and no one else. 

And Seonghwa had only smiled at them silently, not even knowing they were his. 

And Hongjoong has found that to be enough. 

Seonghwa closed his eyes, calm and collected as he heard the bench beneath them creak slightly. Even without music, he thought of rain and meadows.

His gift this time was unmistakable, a gentle press of lips against Seonghwa’s as a hand rested against his chest for balance.

Seonghwa didn’t stiffen. Didn’t freak. Didn’t hesitate before pressing forward ever so slightly, a simple message that it was welcome.

Hongjoong inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.

Hongjoong was always welcome in Seonghwa’s arms- be it platonic or otherwise.

Seonghwa braced a hand on the little black bench, leaning in further as Hongjoong’s hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck, holding on firmly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slowly.

Seonghwa felt his chest warming.

And despite the lack of music, it felt like soft grass and babbling brooks as his other hand laid against Hongjoong’s hip, responding in kind as Hongjoong kissed him deeper, a bit harder, the minimal space between them on the little black bench turning to nothing as Hongjoong closed that last bit of distance.

Hongjoong’s cheeks were damp. And it reminded him of rain… but the kind that came in sun showers.

The freedom of standing in the storm and not caring that you were getting wet.

There was a loud, dissonant bang as Hongjoong’s elbow hit the keys of the piano, but neither of them paid it any mind as lips began to move gently following and chasing and teasing…

Like a brook running over stone, laughing as it smoothed the rough edges.

Hongjoong suddenly pulled away, both of them breathing heavily, but neither parting far.

“I have waited… five years to do that,” Hongjoong breathed, eyes still misty, but a brilliant light shining in them.

A breathtaking light. 

“I haven’t,” Seonghwa confessed quietly, staring at the light in Hongjoong’s eyes that looked like the sunlight reflecting blindingly off of a stream. “But I’d let you do it again.”

And it clicked for Seonghwa.

That all those smiles he had given Hongjoong’s work… all those moments when Hongjoong had been watching, marveling and dying inside… Those smiles weren’t for the music.

They were for Hongjoong.

The way that Seonghwa, even with his eyes closed, knew that Hongjoong was putting his heart and soul into it. Smiles that were for the person he knew was living a life that he loved, doing what he loved… and doing it for no other reason than love.

He’d thought the love was for music…

“I smiled for you,” Seonghwa said, the realization calming and affirming. “All those times you were watching… Yes, I loved your music, but the reason I couldn’t stop smiling was because I knew it was you making it. I saw your music as a magic you created, but it was  _ you _ creating it, and it was you I was marveling at, Hongjoong.” 

That was the truth.

And where Seonghwa expected Hongjoong to tear up again, there was only a wobbly, bright smile aimed up at Seonghwa.

“I wasn’t lying, before,” Hongjoong told him hoarsely. “I am happy, Seonghwa. I’m happy because of you. And I’m happy… that I finally told you what you’ve been giving me for years. That you could be my muse…”

Hongjoong wet his lips, his eyes shining with a glow that no sunlight could give.

“Would you still let me do it again?” Hongjoong asked, scanning Seonghwa’s face like he wanted to commit to memory.

Seonghwa suddenly wondered how many times Hongjoong had done that, over years of Seonghwa sitting and listening with his eyes closed… How many times had Hongjoong simply stared at him, loving from a distance?

Loving Seonghwa in a language that only Hongjoong spoke… but that Seonghwa had experienced, even if he hadn’t understood.

Because… music wasn’t about understanding. You didn’t have to understand it to experience it.

Seonghwa hadn’t understood what Hongjoong meant by his songs… but he’d experienced them. Always. He’d been touched and soothed and comforted by them, always.

Even when he couldn’t understand.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong were two dissonant notes that could never really create a harmony. 

They were too different. Too opposite. 

But… Hongjoong had a talent in making even the most chaotic and jarring sound into something beautiful that worked against every odd. 

He’d done that to their chaotic cacophony of misunderstandings and missed languages. He’d turn them beautiful. 

“In a heartbeat,” Seonghwa assured him.

They, once more, both ignored the grating sound of random keys being pressed as Hongjoong surged up eagerly, framing Seonghwa’s face and deepening the kiss quickly.

The small bench didn’t afford them much room, but they pressed together regardless, bodies twisted towards each other, Hongjoong’s deft fingers curling through Seonghwa’s hair gently as he kissed him, deep and warm.

The exact sort of kiss… you’d expect one to give after five years.

Not fast, but deep and longing.

And Seonghwa gave everything he asked for, because maybe he hadn’t pined for five years… but he’d been a part of that narrative, unknowingly, listening to that language he couldn’t speak.

Seonghwa had been listening to and loving Hongjoong for five years. 

He’d simply thought that it was directed at the music he played, rather than the man himself. He hadn’t realized how much of the joy he got from the music came from who was playing it.

Hongjoong’s music was special because it was  _ Hongjoong’s. _

Another cry of dissonant keys as Hongjoong shifted forward and was drawn in by Seonghwa all at once.

But Seonghwa barely heard it.

It was lost to the beautiful, harmonic chords of Hongjoong’s laughter against his lips.

And that beautiful song was placed directly alongside the other countless, unknown gifts Hongjoong had been giving him for five years.

Seonghwa smiled against the kiss that broke slightly with Hongjoong’s laugh.

The two of them swapped those gifts, knowingly, for the first time since it all began.

The first gifts of many.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this little thing! I hope it wasn’t disappointing!  
> Please let me know what you think!  
> I’m working on my space!AU next so I hope it comes out well, too! 
> 
> Thank you, lovelies! Have an amazing day! I’ll see you in my next work!  
> -SS
> 
> My twitter and Curious Cat are @_SinisterSound_ if you have any questions, comments, or just want to chat!


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